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Updated: June 24, 2025
Crown, going in to Washington, had stopped at the car barns of the electric road which passed Sloanehurst, and had found a conductor who had made the ten-thirty run last night. This conductor, Barton, had slept at the barns, waiting for the early-morning resumption of car service to take him to his home across the city.
Newspaper reporters, instantly impressed by the dramatic possibilities, the inherent sensationalism, of the murder, flocked to him. Referred to him by the people at Sloanehurst, they asked for not only his narration of what had occurred but also for his opinion as to the probability of running down the guilty man.
As a matter of fact, he wanted to see if Webster was at Sloanehurst and fastened his eyes for a fleeting glimpse on that word and on that alone. Besides, there are facts to prove that the letter did not go to Webster. Do you see how your fancied security falls away?" "Let me think," she said, her tone flat and impersonal. She was silent, her restless eyes gazing at the wall over his head.
Result of my sending out those circulars asking if any automobile parties passed along the Sloanehurst road the murder night. Remember?" "Yes." The old man recalled having made that suggestion, but did not say so. "This morning the chief of police of York York, Pennsylvania wired me. I got him by long-distance right away.
"Hendricks: the Sloanehurst people are members of the Arlington Golf Club. Get a look at golf bags there. Did one, or two, contain piece or pieces of a bed-slat? "Gore: check up on Mrs. B.'s use of money. "I'll be back Sunday." He sealed the envelope into which he put that, and, addressing it to Hendricks, left it lying on the table.
"Find any steel on the floor?" Hendricks took from his pocket a little paper parcel about the size of a man's thumb. "Not sure, sir. Here's what I got." He unfolded the paper and put it down on the table, displaying a small mass of what looked like dust and lint. "Wonderful what a magnet will pick up, ain't it?" mused his employer: "I got the same sort of stuff at Sloanehurst this morning.
Brace's threats, put in the forefront of their stories an appealing picture of a bereaved mother's one-sided fight for justice against the baffling combination of the Sloanehurst secretiveness and indifference and the mysterious circumstances of the daughter's death. Not one of them questioned the validity of Russell's alibi.
"You doubtless see the gravity of the facts: that letter was mailed to Sloanehurst. Russell has just told me so. She waved it in his face, to taunt him about you, before she dropped it into the mail-box. He swears" Hastings stopped, at the far end of his pacing, and looked hard at Webster "it was addressed to you."
That was not so much in her face as in her body. Her limbs had a look of rigidity. "Don't you see what I mean?" Lucille insisted. "I see that you can make endless trouble for us for all of us at Sloanehurst. You can make people believe Mr. Webster guilty, and that father and I are shielding him. People listen to what you say. They seem to be on your side." "Well?"
"I did come out on his car, the car that gets to the Sloanehurst stop at ten-thirty, and I did leave the car at the Ridgecrest stop, a quarter of a mile from here. I was following Mil Miss Brace. I saw her leave her apartment house, the Walman. I followed her to the transfer station at the bridge, and I saw her take the car there. I followed on the next car.
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